


a thousand winds that blow

by Koto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koto/pseuds/Koto
Summary: A snapshot of Iris in the aftermath.





	

It’s a few weeks short of two years before Iris gathers the courage to visit the graves — temporary posts or stone columns.

She tells anyone who asks, including herself, that there wasn’t time — not with every able hand needed for months of repairing the country’s infrastructure, hunting down hordes of daemons which had evaded the sunrise, and relocating thousands of refugees. And, of course, amidst the recovery efforts, half a dozen separate factions tried to establish themselves as Lucis’ new government. Four of the bands destroyed each other in the ensuing conflicts; the remainder of the Crownsguard, bolstered by hunters and bought mercenaries, dealt with the surviving two.

After that, the Crownsguard oversaw the implementation of provincial councils, with a central council at the system’s head, all elected by Lucian citizens.

Iris avoided Insomnia as much as possible while the politics played out, sticking to securing supply lines and hunting bounties at the country’s edges. And, during the months she was away, the gravestones were carved and raised.

While she leans over her coffee and eggs, the news crackles over a radio in the diner at Old Lestallum.

“Our top story this morning is the completion of the Long Night memorial and the surrounding cemetery.”

Iris freezes, mug against her lips.

“Dedicated to those who lost their lives during the decade-long darkness and the war which proceeded it, the now-permanent site succeeds the temporary grave-markers which were placed within weeks of Insomnia’s reclamation.”

Her coffee tastes like sour cold medicine.

 _When did ‑ when did I last hear any news?_ she thinks. Months ago, she knows. Long enough for the construction to begin and finish, while she’d rarely stopped moving long enough to do anything more than refuel and restock. If there had been anything crucial for her to know, Cor would’ve called.

_I suppose a memorial isn’t crucial to anything._

The smell of bacon is overwhelming, nauseating.

“The memorial, a monolith at the centre of the circular park, is inscribed with the names of —”

Iris slams her mug down, drops enough gil on the bar to pay, and strides to the door, boots thumping on the tile.

Outside, she breathes deep of the scents of campfire smoke and damp soil. The wind tugs at her braid and tosses yellowed leaves across the asphalt. Judging by the western sky, another rainstorm is coming.

 _Time to go._ She grabs her bike, refuels, and rides north.

* * *

 She passes the winter hunting bounties and helping with the tail end of the rebuilding, returning to Lestallum often for supplies and never going farther east than the Hammerhead. Cindy tunes up her bike whenever she drops by. Sitting beside Cid and nursing cans of Ebony, Iris watches, flinching whenever she remembers seeing the mechanic change the Regalia’s oil and sparks plugs once, at Cape Caem.

After the snowmelt, when the trees begin to bud, she winds her way east from Ravatogh, slaying monsters as she goes.

Upon her arrival at the Hammerhead one dusty evening, Cindy barely meets her eyes before hugging her.

“Aw, hun. Do ya want company?”

Face pressed into Cindy’s shoulder, Iris shakes her head. “No, I —” her voice cracks “—I’ll be alright.” She pulls back and smiles, hoping the tears brimming in her eyes don’t fall. “Promise.”

Cindy watches her for a long moment before squeezing her hands. “When ya’re done with the big city, let’s take a vacation."

“You’ll willingly take time off work?” Iris asks, laughing a little.

“Well, Paw-paw keeps saying I gotta give one of my juniors a shot at running things, so I figure I best go by choice before he pushes me outta the station.”

“Anywhere in mind?”

“I was thinking Wiz Chocobo Post. Never had the chance to ride one of those birds.”

Fresh tears pool below Iris’ eyes and spill down her cheeks.

“Oh, damn. I’m sorry, I —”

“It’s okay. It is. They’re good memories. I just….” Iris turns her gaze up, to the brightening stars. “They hurt.”

Cindy waits a minute, still gripping her hands, before asking, “Somewhere else, then?”

“No. I want to go.”

* * *

 As the sky begins to redden, Iris waves goodbye to Cindy and rides east. The hours pass, the sun appearing, the desert fading to semi-arid forest, and the coastal hills rising. She reaches the bridge to Cavaugh around noon and guns her bike before her resolve can falter. Three hours later, she rolls through the city’s southern gate.

Insomnia is worn — fading paint, rusty streetlights, cracks running down many roads — yet alive. Markets are bustling, the fountains run with clear water, and children walk home from school, expressions free of fear.

She finds a flower shop and buys a bouquet of lilies.

Directions from the florist lead Iris to the northeastern quarter and a park built after the reclamation. With hundreds of trees no more than saplings and too many graves to count under the young branches, the cemetery looks wrong. The sky arcs above, massive and blue, wisps of cloud scudding across.

In a field of lilies looms the monolith — a column of black stone, carved with thousands of names. Instead of walking up to it, Iris goes seeking the individual graves.

Searching barely takes five minutes. All their stones are within thirty paces of the others.

She finds her father’s first and, after breaking down in tears, lays a flower. Sniffling, she lays flowers for Regis, Lunafreya, Jared, and the fallen members of the royal guards and knows she’s stalling, weaving around the graves.

With only four flowers left, Iris walks over, trembling.

When she sees the stones, she freezes.

_Someone knew. Someone knew what they meant to each other._

She drops to her knees, sobbing again, heavy with guilt that she wasn’t around to do this for them and gratitude that someone else was.

The stones stand side by side, reading, _Noctis Lucis Caelum_ , _Prompto Argentum_ , _Ignis Scientia_ , and _Gladiolus Amiticia_. After their names and official titles is a single word, identical on each stone, though Iris can barely see it through her tears.

_Beloved._

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quotation from Mary Elizabeth Frye's poem "Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep," suggested by a friend. (Thanks for the feels.)


End file.
